Monday, October 11, 2021

Fruit spoils in my hands, 
yet I married a farmer. 
He stirs earth over my palms. 
Splinters slit my fingers,
yet I married a woodworker. 
He sands away my aches.  
Fire resides in the pits of my stomach,  
yet I married a firefighter. 
He turns my demons to smoke. 
Sin is a coat in my closet, 
yet I married a man of faith.
He walks me through the garden. 
Bellows ring through my ears,  
yet I married a soft-spoken man. 
He quiets the roars, 
with a single clearing of his throat. 
Anxiety sinks its teeth into my veins, 
yet I married a man who peace befriended. 
He guides me to dreamlands 
painted in gold.

This piece was printed by the Iowa Poetry Association in their journal, Lyrical Iowa 2021.

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